


When Death Comes Calling

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Character Death, F/M, Mention of Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6079539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy befriends the Grim Reaper because what else was he supposed to do?</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Death Comes Calling

The first time Bellamy dies, he’s fifteen years old.

Well, he’ll refer to it later as the first time. He has no illusions about the inevitability of death, but he’s hoping it won’t become a recurring event. He has his fingers crossed that it will only happen to him once more in the course of his lifetime, at the very end, and that he’ll be at least 115 years old.

But the first time, he dies when his mom gets into a car accident. He’s riding shotgun and Octavia is buckled in back. He hears one of the EMTs, in the few moments he’s lucid, describe it as a head-on collision and he’s miraculously able to piece together that Octavia has a good chance of being in better shape than he is.

Because as it turns out, he’s in critical condition, and he ends up flatlining on the operating table.

Death is nothing like he expected.

There’s no bright light, no pearly gates. At first, he doesn’t even realize what’s happening.

He’s still in the OR, disoriented, lying flat on his back. The pain has ceased and the chaos around him is fading. If he tries very hard he can make out vague shadows moving around him, like doctors and nurses would be, but if he doesn’t focus on it the room feels still and silent.

He pushes himself into a sitting position, slowly, gingerly, afraid of aggravating one of his injuries.

“Hi,” a voice says, and his head whips around to find a blonde girl, no older than himself, leaning up against the wall.

Later, he’ll realize she was trying to stand out of the way of the living people in the room. Later, that will seem significant. Now, her presence is little more to him than odd.

“Hi?” He says, swinging his legs around so he’s facing her.

“Bellamy, right? Your mom just came through, I’m sorry to say. I asked if she wanted to wait, but I think she was hoping you wouldn’t come at all.”

Her lips are moving, her eyes are clear blue, studying him with a level gaze, and he knows all of the individual words she’s using, but he’s not comprehending their meaning.

“Mom is here?” He rubs his eyes and hopes it will help. “Or– was here? Where did she go? Is she okay?”

“No,” the girl says, regret masking her lovely features. “She’s not okay. She’s dead, Bellamy. And so are you.”

This clears his clouded mind and he looks over at her sharply.

“I’m not dead.”

“Alas, you are.”

He doesn’t _feel_ dead, not that he knows what that would feel like, but he is aware on a gut level that something isn’t right. And she seems pretty confident. And the crash did hurt a lot. Still, if he was dead he’d expect to know for sure, so he chalks it up to a figment of his imagination and decides to play along.

“Okay,” he says, taking in his surroundings through this new lens. “So what happens next?”

“Wow,” she huffs, giving a small, sad laugh. “I think you skipped some stages of grief. Most people that accept it this quickly knew their deaths were coming ahead of time. If you’re putting on some sort of macho act I can give you a moment of privacy?”

“No act. I’ve just decided that this is all a product of the anesthesia.”

“Oh, so you’re still in the denial stage,” she says, sounding almost relieved. As if she’s glad his life wasn’t so awful he took his death in stride.

“It’s not unlike me to dream about cute girls or morbid situations. I don’t usually combine the two, but there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“I suppose.”

She almost looks like she wants to laugh, and he’s not certain what she’s even doing here but he can’t imagine she gets to laugh much in the afterlife. He wishes he were funnier.

“So like I said, what happens next?”

“I don’t actually know,” she replies, coming over to sit next to him on the table. “Heaven, paradise, utopia, nothing. I’m just as informed as you are. My job is to guide people to the other side, but I’ve never been told exactly what that is.”

“Like Charon,” he says, recalling his Greek mythology. The mysterious ferryman who taxied souls to the underworld had never been one of his favorite characters, but he respected the idea of someone diligently performing an undesirable job. As someone who has worked in the fast food industry, he feels like he can relate.

“Charon’s a new one,” she hums thoughtfully. “Grim Reaper, Angel of Death, I’ve been called a lot of things. But I usually go by Clarke.” She extends her hand for an introduction and he’s surprised his subconscious would invent someone so well-mannered.

“Bellamy.”

Her hand is soft and feels so real, and his stomach is beginning to sink like a stone in the ocean.

“Yeah, I know. Your mom mentioned it.”

“And she already– You already helped her cross over?”

“I did.” She sounds sympathetic and regretful again and he hates it. He’s always bristled at that tone, never wanted anyone’s pity. “If you want, you can hang around here for a while and see if your sister– Octavia?– is going to come too. I haven’t visited her yet, so I don’t know exactly how close she is, but if it were really dire I would feel it.”

“Octavia,” Bellamy says, the stone hitting the ocean floor with a resounding thunk.

As soon as he says his sister’s name, Clarke starts to fade and his entire body starts to hurt.

“Bellamy?”

Clarke is alarmed, but her voice sounds far away and she’s growing harder and harder to make out. He can hear now the beeping of the machines in the room and the barked commands being given around him.

And then everything goes black.

When he comes to, he feels sluggish and confused. He half expects to see Clarke’s face staring at him but instead it’s Octavia’s he finds. He’s so overwhelmed and glad she’s alright that he almost starts crying.

“Stop it,” she says, the excited expression she’d donned when she saw that he was awake turning to one of terror. “You crying is scarier than you being unconscious.”

“You’re okay?” He asks, reaching blindly for her. One of her hands comes up to grab his and she holds up the other to show him a bright pink cast.

“All I’ve got is a broken wrist. You’re the one who needs taking care of.”

One of the biggest things they fight over is how much Bellamy gets to take care of his sister. He tends to think he’s responsible for more of her life than she does, so normally she might say this with a grumble or a shove, but instead she sounds like she’s about to break down.

And then he finds out his mother is dead. He finds out that his heart had officially stopped beating for a while and he’d been definitively dead for several minutes. And he understands.

He doesn’t tell anyone about Clarke or their conversation in what he thinks of as limbo. He wouldn’t know how to tell them, for one thing, and for another, he’s already got a lot on his mind.

He and O move in with a foster family. The Collins are nice enough, and he’s incredibly grateful they’ll take both him and his sister. They have a son about his age, Finn, who is different from Bellamy in some fundamental ways. Just because he doesn’t know what it’s like to have to fight for everything he has, isn’t made of fire and salt like the Blakes, doesn’t mean they can’t try to get along while Bellamy finishes high school.

After he graduates, Bellamy enlists in the army. He can’t afford college, is still paying off hospital bills, but he wants O to be able to go.

“You going to miss me, Reyes?”

It’s the night before he leaves for training and Raven, Finn’s girlfriend and one of Bellamy’s closest friends these days, is throwing him a farewell party. It’s just her, Octavia, Finn, and a handful of other misfits, but it’s perfect.

“You wish,” she says, swiping his drink and taking a rather large swallow.

“That’s what I thought,” he says in mock disappointment, stealing his drink back. “You’re out of this place. On to bigger and better things, never thinking about any of us mere mortals again.”

“I’ll give you a shout-out in my memoir, though. Bellamy Blake: the friend who drags you into fistfights, drones on about epic poetry, and lets you steal food from his plate.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

She clinks an imaginary cup with his, then downs whatever’s left after he’s taken his sip.

“Really, though,” she says, and her voice is more serious than he’s maybe ever heard it. “You better be safe. And you better not die.”

“Training won’t kill me. I’m not going to be anywhere dangerous anytime soon.”

“I don’t care. If you die, here or overseas, I’m going to kick your ass.”

He thinks of limbo. Thinks of Clarke. Thinks that if anyone could manage making good on a threat like that, it would be Raven Reyes.

“Well I’m definitely more afraid of being on your bad side than I am of death,” he says, and she rolls her eyes.

“Whatever works.”

He does survive training, survives months of missing Octavia. He gets assigned, gets deployed, and after an embarrassingly short time, gets shot.

It’s not fatal, he knows, but it hurts like hell. The gunfire pins him down with another soldier in his unit who has taken a more serious hit. If they don’t move soon, he’s not sure Atom is going to make it.

But even though this is the closest he’s come to death– his or anyone else’s– since the car accident, he’s still surprised when he looks over to check on Atom and sees Clarke sitting next to him like she belongs there.

She’s older now. She looks a little more hollow, visibly more wrecked since she and Bellamy last met. But he’d know her anywhere.

“Long time no see,” she says, giving him a tight-lipped smile. Her hands are tucked under her knees and she’s looking at Atom like she’s afraid to touch him.

“Am I dead?” Bellamy asks, panicking.

“No. But you already know me, which means I can show myself to you and not feel like I’m going to scare the life out of you.”

“You’ve got a dark sense of humor, cracking puns on someone’s deathbed.”

“Gallows humor comes with the territory. I wouldn’t survive if I couldn’t crack a joke now and then,” she tells him, but he's not buying it. She looks less like she's surviving and more like she's slowly wasting away. He’s not sure she can last a whole lifetime.

“Are people really afraid of you?” He asks, genuinely curious. There’s so much he’s been wondering over the past few years.

“Only because I take the shape of your greatest fear,” she says, her expression grave.

“Nice try. I’m pretty good at talking to a woman.”

“Yes, but you’re afraid of your sister becoming one,” she points out. His face must do something because her laughter is like a dam breaking, the force of it too great for her to restrain. “I’m just kidding, Bellamy. If people are scared of me it’s because of my job, not my face. I hope.”

“You’re older than you were last time,” He hedges. “Or you look older. Death has been around since forever, so why do you age?”

“I’m not the original reaper,” she says, looking down at Atom like she’s checking on him. Like she itches to make any kind of move to save his life. But he’s still out cold, and the tourniquet Bellamy made has mostly stopped the bleeding. Anything that can be done, has been. “I was a normal person, just like you. I still look like her, even if I don’t feel like her anymore.”

“How do you even get this job?” He wonders, sinking next to her. “What is that application process even like? Did you have to come up with some kind of cosmic resume and cover letter? What’s the skill set someone looks for in hiring a reaper? I have questions.”

“But not the ones I thought you’d have,” she says, looking like she’s going to laugh again. “I died. Just like you. My death happened to coincide with the reaper before me deciding she wanted to retire, so she offered me a chance to live if I took over for her.”

“Huh.” This answer only makes him more curious about her. He has so many questions he doesn’t know where to begin.

“I can see the wheels turning,” she says, and he realizes he’s been lost in his thoughts. “I don’t really have time to stay and answer all your questions, but I could maybe answer one.”

The question that rises immediately to the forefront of his mind is to ask how she died, but that feels too personal. He hardly knows her, and it might be a sensitive subject.

Instead he asks, “Are you the only reaper? Like, do you have to go collect all the dead souls from all around the world?”

“No. I don’t know any other reapers personally, but I can’t be the only one. I can sense when a soul under my jurisdiction is about to transition, but I don’t interact with nearly enough people to be the only reaper in the world.”

“And then the souls you help just leave, and never come back.”

“Most of them,” she says, nudging him pointedly.

“That’s got to be lonely,” he says, his voice soft. He’s been thinking about her more than ever since he was deployed. The boredom and loneliness of the service have given him new insights into her existence.

“It is.” She sounds a little choked up.

“Well, if you ever get a day off, or a break, or if you’re ever in the neighborhood–”

“You want to be my friend?” Her voice is heavy with skeptical amusement, and the corners of his mouth tilt upward in response.

“Who wouldn’t want to be friends with the Angel of Death?”

“Most sane people,” she points out, but she still sounds pleased.

“That rules me out.”

“Ah, I see where I went wrong now.” She’s quiet for a moment and he realizes he can’t hear Atom’s breathing anymore. “I have to go,” she says, looking at something he can’t see. “Duty calls. But I might see you around, Bellamy Blake.”

“I look forward to it.”

He’s not expecting to see her _soon_. He figures she’s pretty busy, and a lot of his time is spoken for as well. Then she pops out of nowhere when he’s sitting on his bunk reading, and it startles him so much he nearly has a heart attack.

“This isn’t some revenge thing, is it? You’re not, like, trying to scare me to death because I’m the one that got away?”

She smiles and he scoots over to make room for her. It’s a narrow space but she doesn’t seem to mind. It’s not like she gets a lot of human contact anyway, he figures. And as close as he is with some of the others in his unit, he misses the casual, platonic touches he used to share with Octavia.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she says, picking up his book from where he dropped it and reading the synopsis on the back. “I just like messing with you. You have a very expressive face."

“I’ve been told that before.”

“You would make a good cartoon character.” She hands him the book with a grin.

“You need to work on your compliments. It’s really obvious you don’t interact with people very often because you have terrible social skills.”

“You’re my entire social circle, so I must have picked them up from you.”

He’s about to retort when Miller sticks his head into the room.

“You talking to someone, Blake?”

Bellamy’s eyes dart to Clarke, wondering how he’s going to explain her. She gives him a wicked smile and says, “Did I forget to mention you’re the only one I’m allowing to see me?”

“Just arguing with my book,” he says to Miller, holding it up as proof. He’s hoping Miller is too far away to see that the book is upside down and closed, and Clarke does not try at all to stifle her laughter. It’s very distracting, especially because she’s so close to him and he can feel her body shaking with it.

“Nerd,” Miller accuses, shaking his head. “We’re about to start a game of poker if you want in.”

“Go on without me. I might be along in a little while.”

“Suit yourself,” Miller shrugs, stepping back out.

“You’re a menace,” Bellamy groans, quietly, when he thinks Miller is far enough away not to hear.

“I’d apologize but I’m not sorry in the least,” she tells him, settling in even closer to him. “Tell me about your book.”

They talk about reading for a bit (she doesn’t get much time to read these days but she liked to when she was younger, and they talk about the Artemis Fowl books for a good while) and he tells her stories about Octavia. Before he knows it almost two hours have passed and he hasn’t even asked her any of his questions.

“I should probably go,” she says. He can’t see her face because her head is resting on his shoulder but she sounds pretty bummed about it.

“What would happen if you just didn’t show up?”

“I don’t know. A bunch of confused souls, wandering around lost in the afterlife? I would hate for someone to miss out on whatever comes next just because I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.”

She gets up and stretches, and he tries not to check her out. She’s the Grim Reaper. It’s probably weird and creepy.

He does notice, however, that her cheeks have a little more color in them, and her eyes are a little livelier. A friend might be exactly what she needs.

“Well,” he says, standing up because he’s awkward and doesn’t know what else to do. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” she promises.

And then she’s gone.

She visits him sporadically during the rest of his tour. Usually when he’s alone, sometimes showing up when he’s in a group of people just so she can make his life difficult. They talk about all sorts of things, and he gets some of his questions answered, though once he starts asking things it usually diverts them to a tangent that occupies the rest of their time.

Sometimes she tells him about the souls she’s met. One or two famous people, a stubborn man who refused to let her give him directions (Clarke’s impression of him makes him tear up with laughter), small children who break her heart. A few times she shows up looking devastated and he can’t do anything but wrap his arms around her.

On his own bad days, he wishes he knew how to get in contact with her, misses her more than he thought he could miss someone who wasn’t his sister.

Eventually his contract is up and he moves back home.

He gets an apartment with Miller, who is only from a few hours down the road, and he starts college. Octavia spends most afternoons at his apartment, though she still lives with the Collins, and even Raven comes by from time to time. By all accounts, he shouldn’t need Clarke’s friendship as much as he did before, but the first time she shows up while he’s cooking dinner in his crappy kitchen, his heart leaps.

“So this is where you live now,” she says from behind him. He turns around to find her opening and closing the cabinets like she’s taking inventory. “You need a decorator.”

He grabs her by the arm and pulls her in for a hug. It’s been longer than usual since he’s seen her, and he doesn’t know if it’s because she was letting him get settled, or because she thought he’d be done with her after the army, or because she couldn’t find him. He’d kind of thought she was gone for good.

“You also need a shower,” she laughs, but she clutches him tight.

“I missed you,” he tells her, releasing her and stepping back to the stove so his chicken won’t burn.

“Clingy,” she says, but she stands close and leans against his arm and he knows she missed him too.

“It’s my only flaw.”

“You’ve been misinformed.” She pauses. “Every time I’ve stopped by recently, you’ve been with your sister. Which is obviously a good thing, I just didn’t want to interrupt.”

He thinks this over, flipping some of the meat in the skillet.

“Is it a rule that only people who have died can see and hear you?” He asks. “Because if not, I could introduce you to her. We could make up a story for how I know you and you could start using the front door like a normal human being.”

“I’m not a normal human being.”

“I know. You’re kind of a dick.”

She snorts and pinches him in the side.

“You don’t think it would be weird?” She asks, tentative.

“If you’re cool with it, I’m cool with it,” he shrugs, realizing with a pang how much he wants it to happen. Clarke and Octavia are two of the most significant people in his life, and he really wants them to meet. “I don’t want to not see you just because I’m with O, and I don’t want to not see her just because I’m with you. It would be easier if we could hang out all together. Besides, making fun of me is one of her favorite things to do too, so you guys have a lot in common.”

“You’re just such an easy target,” Clarke says, finding his bowls and taking two out of the cabinet. He’d made enough for several days’ worth of leftovers, so he doesn’t mind sharing even if he’s surprised that she can– and does– eat.

They plate the food and carry it to his couch, where he has an episode of _Friends_ cued up.

“I could meet your sister,” she says softly when the theme song plays. He bites back on a smile.

“Awesome. Now watch this, because it’s a very important part of your cultural education.”

He doesn’t mean to introduce her to Miller, but he and Octavia are both in the apartment the next time Clarke comes over, and, well, Bellamy figures it was probably going to happen at some point so he just rolls with it.

She does knock this time, and he doesn’t _know_ it’s her at the door, but Raven usually just walks in unannounced and helps herself to whatever’s in his fridge, and he doesn’t know who else it would be.

“Hey,” he says, grinning when he opens the door. “Way to act like a person instead of a poltergeist.”

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t want to embarrass you in front of your friends,” she says, stepping inside and shedding the leather coat she always wears. “What with the jumping and the girlish screams.”

“Thoughtful.” She follows him into the living room, looking more nervous than he’s ever seen her. “Guys, this is my friend Clarke. Clarke, this is my sister Octavia and my roommate Miller.”

“You made a friend?” Miller says, raising an eyebrow.

“I did most of the work,” Clarke says cheerfully, sitting between Miller and Bellamy on the couch.

“Makes more sense now.”

“How do you guys know each other?” Octavia asks, looking between them with suspicion.

“I met her while she was working,” Bellamy says. He’s planned this. He’s going to be so smooth.

“Yeah, I’m an Uber driver,” Clarke throws out, and he tries not to choke on the air he’s breathing. Octavia seems to accept this and unpauses the game she and Miller had been playing.

“Uber?” Bellamy hisses. Clarke just smirks and whispers back, “I help random strangers get from A to B. It seemed like a fitting cover story.”

She fits in so naturally it’s hard for him to believe she was nervous about it. She can’t contribute much to some of their conversations that revolve around current events or popular culture, but Bellamy tries to drop enough context clues that she’ll be able to keep up.

He kicks his sister out at the normal time, early enough that he’s not worried about her driving home, and Octavia gives him a knowing look when Clarke stays behind.

“I like your Uber girlfriend,” she says, flicking him in the shoulder. “But next time tell me about her before you spring her on me.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he protests. “If that changes I’ll let you know.”

When he comes back in, Miller has disappeared into his room and Clarke is stretched out on the couch comfortably. She looks much healthier than she used to, and he likes to think his company and his cooking have something to do with that. And now her friend group has tripled.

He’s not sure when it became his personal mission to try to make Clarke happy, but he thinks it’s working.

“I like your sister better than you,” she says, lifting her feet so he can sit down, then placing them unceremoniously in his lap.

“Most people do.”

They turn _Friends_ on; they’ve been working through the series bit by bit. It’s nice to hear her laugh so much.

“Time to go,” she says when the credits roll.

“Where are you off to?” He asks, following her into the entryway so she can grab her jacket.

“The midwest, I think.”

“Gotcha.”

She catches him completely off guard when she presses a kiss to his cheek and gives him a quick hug.

“See you soon,” she says, giving a little wave and then disappearing. He opens and closes the door to signal Miller that it’s safe to come out, and hopes the expression on his face isn’t too obvious.

He’s pretty sure he’s got a thing for the Grim Reaper, and he thinks she might like him too.

She comes by more frequently in the months that follow, though she doesn’t stay as long as she used to. She meets Raven and they click so quickly it terrifies Miller. She and Octavia even hang out without him sometimes when he has a lot of homework to do, and that warms his heart more than he wants to admit to either of them.

Unfortunately, expanding her list of friends comes with unforeseen consequences.

“Hey, what’s Clarke’s last name?” Raven asks, one of Bellamy’s beers in her hand and his laptop open in front of her. She might have some issues with boundaries.

“I’m not enabling your stalker tendencies,” Bellamy says, trying to buy some time.

“I’m just trying to find her on Facebook, asshole.”

“Oh. She’s not on Facebook.”

“Why not?” Octavia demands, looking up from her phone for once.

“I don’t know. I guess you’d have to ask her that.” He makes a mental note to prep Clarke before her next interaction with his sister.

“Well, what about her phone number?” Raven asks before Octavia can make a snarky response. “The Cupcake Shoppe is having a ladies night where you buy a cocktail and get a free cupcake, and we wanted to invite her.”

“Please tell me you’re not buying my underage sister a drink,” Bellamy groans and Octavia sticks her tongue out at him, which kind of proves his point.

“If I promise to drink at least half of her beverage for her, do I get Clarke’s number?”

“No, because I don’t have it.”

“How do you not have your girlfriend’s phone number?” Miller asks, seeming interested in the conversation for the first time.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“How does she let you know when she’s coming over?” Octavia asks.

“She doesn’t, she just shows up. I think she lives nearby, so it’s not that out of the way for her to check and see if I’m home.”

“You’re a disaster of a person and I’m embarrassed to know you.”

“Shut up, Miller.”

Unfortunately, Bellamy doesn’t get a chance to warn Clarke about the phone/Facebook situation, and she basically walks into an ambush when she lets herself into the apartment later.

“Phone number,” Raven says as soon as Clarke sets foot in the room. To her credit, Clarke only falters half a step before calmly plopping down on the floor at Bellamy’s feet.

“Is that how the kids are greeting each other these days?” Clarke asks, shifting until her back is resting comfortably against his knees. “I can’t keep up with all this slang.”

“You’d be able to if you were on Facebook,” Octavia interjects.

“I need to know how to get in contact with you,” Raven says, unlocking her phone and opening the correct app.

“Oh, that’s easy. I respond to the Clarke signal. It’s a big C you shine with a spotlight on a cloudy night–”

“Just give me your damn number,” Raven says, trying to sound annoyed.

To Bellamy’s surprise, Clarke rattles off a number that Raven diligently types into her phone.

He confronts her about it when she has to leave halfway through a movie they’re watching.

“You have a phone?”

“I figured if I was going to start living in this world I might need one.” He must look shocked because she starts laughing like she only does when he’s doing something dumb and reaches into his pocket to slip his phone out and enter her information.

That she knows his passcode is only mildly concerning; it’s Octavia’s birthday, so it’s not that hard to guess. He’s still stuck on the idea that she has a way he can reach her. He watches as she enters herself as Clarke [skull emoji] Griffin and types in a set of numbers that will ostensibly connect him to her whenever he wants.

“You said you were good at talking to women,” she says, handing his phone back. “I expected you to ask for my number and be at least a _little_ bit smooth.”

“I didn’t think you’d have a number,” he says, still in shock.

“I don’t use it much, but in case of emergency… yeah. That’s how you can reach me. Catch you later, Bell.”

Once she’s figured out his schedule, she starts dropping by strategically. If she just wants to hang, she’ll join whoever is in his living room. If she needs comfort, or needs to vent about her work, or just plain needs a hug, she’ll show up after Octavia has left and he’s alone.

He’s trying to read an extremely dry primary source document for class when she shows up one night looking like she’s been ripped apart at the seams.

“What’s wrong?” He asks in a low voice, setting the papers aside instantly and holding out his arms. She shakes her head and climbs in next to him, her head resting on his chest.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, combing his fingers through her hair.

“There was a mass shooting today,” she says, and his hand freezes. He’d seen it on the news, but he hadn’t thought about how it was probably affecting Clarke.

“I’m so sorry,” he breathes, resuming the soothing motion.

“I just really hate being me some days,” she says with a crack in her voice that physically pains him. “And on top of it all, they were rushed to the hospital where my mother works, so I actually saw her today for the first time in years, and it– I needed to see you. For just a second.”

“You don’t have to explain. I’m here whenever you need me.”

“I know you are,” she says, extracting herself from his arms and wiping at her face. “I have to go back. I have to– the souls, they’re not– there’s still work to do.”

He knows she has no choice, but he can’t let her leave without one last hug so he stands and wraps his arms around her properly, one of his hands coming up to cradle the back of her head. He can feel her lower lip trembling against the skin of his neck and he wishes there was something more he could do to help her.

“For what it’s worth,” he offers, “I’m really glad that you’re you. You’re not your job, Clarke. You’re smart and brave and kind, and none of that has anything to do with the title you wear.”

“And you’re the boy who loved someone so much he came back from the dead,” she says, withdrawing from the hug. “Can I come back later? After?”

“Of course.”

“You might not even be here. It could take a few days.”

“If I’m out, you can call.”

“Okay.” She takes a deep breath, her shoulders rolling back as if she’s preparing herself for battle. “May we meet again.”

He worries a lot about her in the days that follow, and he’s not the only one. Raven and Octavia separately ask him if he knows why Clarke isn’t texting them back. He tells them that her mom is one of the doctors working on victims of the shooting and that Clarke has gone home to be with her. Miller doesn’t even make fun of how much he mopes around the apartment waiting for her to show up.

When she finally does, he’s at class. He returns home to find her passed out on his bed, and can’t do anything but settle in on the floor with his books, waiting for her to wake up.

“Hi,” she croaks a couple of hours later, and he flashes back to the first time he met her, when he was the one on a bed and she was the one waiting.

“Hey. I made some tea if you want some.”

“What are you, eighty years old?” She asks, but with less conviction than she normally would. “Get up here. I need some physical comfort.”

He does as he’s told, handing her both mugs and climbing under the covers carefully so they won’t spill. She puts one of his arms around her and melts into his side. He can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to her temple; he’s been out of his mind the past few days.

“I’m thinking about quitting,” she says out of nowhere.

“Good.”

“Good?”

“Yeah, your job sucks.”

“My job is important.”

“The hours are terrible, the pay is worse, you never get any vacation time, no sick days.” He pauses. “And it’s clearly taking a toll on you. I really hate your job.”

She sips at her tea and considers his arguments.

“Wait,” he says suddenly, panicking as he thinks it through. “If you give up your job, do you die?”

“I don’t think so,” she says carefully. He figures she’s afraid of giving him too much hope. He’s afraid of that too. “One of the first responders to the shooting was– her name is Anya. She was the reaper who handed the job down to me.”

“She’s alive?"

Clarke nods.

“And fighting hard to make sure my workload is as light as possible. She saw me at the scene and pulled me aside to talk. She told me how it’s done, how to exit into the land of the living and not the land of the dead.”

“Then by all means, if you want to quit your job you should quit your job.”

“You’ll let me live on your couch like a hobo?”

He snorts and tightens his grasp.

“Like I’d let you live anywhere else.”

A silence falls but it’s not sad or weighty, it’s easy. It’s nice.

“Did I ever tell you how I died?”

“No, but I have my theories.”

“What are they?” She laughs, which is exactly what he was aiming for.

“Something overly dramatic. Like a hot air balloon accident, or your evil twin pushing you down an elevator shaft.”

“Am I a character from a soap opera now?” He shrugs one shoulder, smiling at the notes of happiness in her voice.

“I figured you never told me because it was completely unbelievable.”

“No, I didn’t tell you because it’s incredibly depressing.”

“That was my second guess.”

She doesn’t say anything and he peeks at her out of the corner of his eye. She’s got half her face pressed into his shoulder, which looks like it would make it difficult to breathe.

“So how did you die? Remain silent if your baby daddy dropped you down a well.”

“I got hit by a car.”

“Hey, me too.”

“Did you get thrown into the air off your bike?”

“No, but it’s not a competition.”

“Only because I’d win,” she says, and he doesn’t think she really sounds all that torn up about her death. He’s over his, if mostly because it brought him to meet Clarke. But her entire life is a reminder that she died, and he can understand if she hasn’t had a chance to grieve for herself.

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

He knows she’s a year younger than he is, which means she’d already had a couple years of reaping under her belt when he met her.

“My dad came through later that year. Cancer. I almost didn’t tell him how to get to the other side, but then he started fading away and it freaked me out. I had to tell him.”

“Of course you did.”

She’s quiet again.

“You know what you’ve never asked me?”

“How would I know what I’ve never asked you?”

“You’ve never asked how to get to the other side. You’ve never asked what it is I do.”

He thinks back even though he knows instantly that she’s right. It had never occurred to him to wonder. He’d stored up questions about her, about her life, about almost every other aspect of her job. They’d all been aimed to know Clarke better, not to unlock the secrets of the universe.

“Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“I tell them to picture the thing they want most for the world. Their kids happily married, their siblings forgiving each other, world peace, whatever it is they need to see to feel closure.” She looks up at him, her eyes so blue and so near. “You wanted your sister not to be alone. So you went back to her.”

“So what you’re saying is I’m the best.”

“Yeah, yeah. Top of the class,” she says, her tone full of affection. “I didn’t figure it out until Anya told me how to reverse it. She didn’t think of someone she loved, though. She thought of herself making a difference and saving lives. But I’m planning to go more of the route you took.”

“Oh?” He wets his lips. “Do tell.”

She breaks out into the biggest, most beautiful smile he’s ever seen on her face and leans in carefully to kiss him. Her lips are soft, she tastes like chamomile, and even though she winds her arms around his neck and presses every inch of her torso up against his, the kiss stays slow and perfect.

It feels like fulfillment of everything he wants, and it also feels like a beginning. It’s a lot for him to handle.

“Any questions?” She breathes, brushing her nose against his.

For the first time ever, he can’t think of any, so he leans in to kiss her again.

 

* * *

 

Clarke tells him that she doesn’t want to hand her job over to just anyone and that it will take some time. She kisses him goodbye, assuring him that the next time he sees her, she’ll be fully enrolling in How To Become a Human 101.

“It’s an immersion course,” he warns her. “But I’m a fair grader.”

“Bring it,” she says, kissing him once more, quickly, and disappearing. It’s a heady thing to think she’ll never be able to do that to him again.

She’s gone for longer than he thought it would take. Miller doesn’t go so easy on him this time.

“Why are you still moping? You two are together. I know you’re together because you were not quiet and I, like the saint I am, said nothing about it.”

“That is not how people get sainted,” Bellamy says offhandedly. “And you yelled at us through the wall at least twice.”

“Yes, but only after I’d been patient for a very long time.”

“She had to go away again, but she’ll be back soon. And she’s going to need somewhere to crash.”

Miller rolls his eyes. “So you get a girlfriend and ask her to move in with you on the same day? Yeah, that seems like something you would do.”

“Shut up, Miller.”

It’s a couple of weeks before he hears from her, and to his surprise, the contact comes in the form of a phone call.

“Clarke?” He asks, genuinely confused.

“What, like you think I don’t know how a phone works?”

“Have you ever given me reason to believe otherwise?”

Even through the connection he can hear the joy saturating her laughter.

“I’m downstairs. I’m stuck outside your apartment building and I can’t just pop up. This never would have happened to me before. Being human is the _worst_.”

“Suck it up,” he says, unable to restrain his grin. “I’m buzzing you in.”

He can’t make himself stand still and wait for her, and he knows Miller is going to make rude comments anyway, so he half-jogs to the elevator and bounces from foot to foot as he waits for it to arrive on his floor.

The second its doors open, he has to catch the blur of blonde that throws itself into his arms. He staggers back a step and lifts her off the ground.

“Miss me?” She asks, planting a kiss on his cheek. He captures her mouth with his in retaliation.

“It was worth it,” he says, picking up a bag she’d dropped when she flung herself at him and leading her back to his apartment.

When they get there, she looks around at everything like she’s seeing it for the first time.

“Alright,” she says, confident and bright as she echoes the words he asked her at their first meeting, so long ago. “What happens next?”


End file.
